


question everything

by FlowerButton



Series: who lives, who dies, who tells your story [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowerButton/pseuds/FlowerButton
Summary: Molly Weasley II saw a lot and was encouraged to ask questions.So why wouldn't her father tell her the importance of the second of May?





	question everything

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of planning on starting a series with these. The ways that the older generation tell their children about what happened. I started with Percy, since I've been on a small 'I love him, protect him' binge with him recently, and I figured Molly would be one of the nicest characters to do. She's got that pushy 'I'm nine and I know what I want' attitude that I imagine Percy having as a kid, which is how I sort of characterised her.
> 
> Short headcanons prior to the fic (which you can ignore): Audrey, to me, is a Squib and her sister was at the Battle of Hogwarts, which is why she's in St Mungo's; she was hit with a Cruciatus Curse and was put into a similar state as the Longbottoms. It's how she and Percy met - Percy was investigating an accident with the Floo system (as Head of Magical Transportation) whilst she was visiting, and they met in the canteen area. Also, Lucy may be a Muggle here too, even though Molly is a witch. I haven't decided yet, but when you have so many children then the likelihood that one of them is not a Muggle/Squib is very unlikely.
> 
> That being said, this fic is just me throwing everything at you and hoping you like it! Once again, I own nothing except my words, and I hope you enjoy!

Molly Weasley was not ignorant. She saw a lot for someone who had her nose in a book most of the time. She saw the way her mum sighed when her dad was home late. She saw the way her dad smiled when the owl knocked on the window in the mornings. She saw the way her sister cried if anyone but her mother spun her around.

She saw all of these things and eventually she learnt to ask why.

“I’m upset because your Daddy’s bosses work him too hard,” her mother told her when Molly asked about the sighing. Her father entered moments later, square glasses reflecting the ceiling lights, and he pressed kisses to both Molly’s and Lucy’s heads before pecking his wife on the lips. She saw the way her mother smiled then and decided it wasn’t a bad thing that their dad worked late if he made her mum smile like that when he came home.

“It’s a reminder that there’s a whole new day ahead of us,” her father explained when Molly wondered about the owl tapping. They were sat down to breakfast on a Saturday, which was her father’s day off, and her mum was in the garden, de-gnoming. Her dad had promised to join her, but the post had arrived before he’d been able to leave. Lucy was still sleeping upstairs, her nap-time somehow getting longer every morning, and her dad was speaking quietly, knowing his voice could wake her. Molly liked that idea, of an owl indicating each new day, and decided she was going to smile when the owl came the next morning.

“Boring,” Lucy said when Molly asked about her crying. “Boring people. Mummy fun.”

Molly was inclined to agree there. She loved her aunties and uncles, but her mum was the best at making her smile. Lucy crawled off, likely going to climb up on some counters, and Molly walked away to warn her father.

As the years went on, Molly began to see more and more. The way her mother flinched when someone knocked on the door. The way her father always called out goodnight twice and always woke them up with two renditions of ‘Good Morning’. The way her parents never liked to go outside on the second of May, not even for birthday parties or big events.

It was, in fact, a birthday party that brought it to her attention. She was at a local primary school now, as advised by her Aunt Hermione, and Molly had loads of friends who, like her, were all six. She knew everyone in her class and because she liked reading, everyone asked her to read stories before naptime or break time, which made her very happy. It was someone in the class, Andy, who had invited her to his birthday party because he liked her reading.

“I’ve got an invite for you,” he said at school. From his pocket, he pulled a small, folded piece of blue paper, with wonky lettering giving his name, his address, and his phone number. “You read good and I have loads of books so we could read together at the party. My big sister likes reading too, and she’s bringing her reading friends, and I’m inviting loads of people who like reading, so we can all read together!”

“Thank you,” Molly said because she had been taught to be polite. “When is it?”

“The second of May,” Andy said. “My birthday is on the third and that’s a Monday so I can’t have a party then because we have school.”

“I have to ask my mum and dad,” Molly replied, and Andy had agreed. She spent the entire day filled with excitement because she hadn’t been to a birthday party before, since her cousins’ didn’t count, no matter how hard her father said they did.

“And how was your day, sweetie?” her mum asked, strapping her in. Molly was practically jumping in her seat, grinning from ear to ear. With a wry smile, her mother closed the door and then popped into the driver’s seat, starting the car as she strapped herself in.

“When does Daddy get home tonight?” Molly wondered instead of a reply. Her mother blinked owlishly in the mirror but replied anyway.

“Around five, since it’s a Thursday. Why, is there something wrong?”

“I need to speak to you two,” Molly said, almost giving it away. But she was a smart girl and she knew it would be easier to talk to her mum and dad together, so nothing was lost when they spoke to one another about it.

Her dad was home around half-five, which annoyed Molly, but her mother still smiled when he kissed her on the lips so she supposed it wasn’t that difficult to wait an extra thirty minutes. Lucy had finished with dinner and was heading back into the living room to play with her rabbit toy, and so Molly coughed and made a large show of gesturing for her parents to sit down. Laughing a little, and sharing a weird look, they did so, looking to her as she stepped away from the table and produced the piece of paper from her pocket.

“Dear Mum and Daddy,” she said, even though it didn’t say it on the card. “My name is Andy and I have invited Molly Weasley to my birthday party. We will be reading lots because I like reading and so does everyone else, and Molly likes reading so she has to come too. Lots of love, Andy.”

“Oh, Molly, that’s great,” her father said, grinning as he leant away from the table. His glasses were on wonky so Molly moved forward to right them, grinning back.

“Can I go?” she asked. “It’s very important because there’s reading and I like reading.”

“You do,” her mother agreed, looking around her husband to see Molly. She was smiling as well. “Is Andy nice?”

“Very,” Molly said, even though she didn’t know him very well. “And he has lots of books and his sister’s friends like reading too and so do all his friends and we’ll all be reading and it will be fun.”

“She sounds like you,” her mother whispered to her dad, who looked back at her with a smile. His lip was twitching like it did when he wanted to laugh but knew it wasn’t right to. Molly assumed her mother was just being weird.

“So can I go?” she requested again, eager to write a letter telling Andy she could. Her mother held out her hand and Molly handed her the invite, watching with excitement as her parents read it.

The excitement vanished when their faces paled.

“It’s May the second,” her mother said, suddenly sounding very far away. Molly didn’t understand.

“Yes,” she replied. “Andy can’t do it on the third which is when his birthday is because we have school.”

“I... don’t think it’s right,” her dad murmured. “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Molly couldn’t hear. “Wha-?”

“Your dad and I need to talk,” her mum interrupted. “Go and play with your sister whilst we think about it.”

“Okay,” Molly said, thinking once again that her mother was being weird as she headed to play with Lucy.

When her dad tucked her into bed that night, she made sure to ask.

“Can I go?”

“Uh, well,” her father stammered. “Well, sweetie, your mum and I don’t particularly want you to.”

“Why?” Molly asked because that’s what he always asked her to do. _Question everything_ , was her father’s motto, _and don’t always believe what everyone tells you_.

“Because May the second is a very important date,” her dad said. “And we’d prefer it if you stayed home with your mum and me.”

“But I’ve never been to a birthday party before,” Molly said, feeling very put out. It wasn’t fair. Andy had asked her to go and she really wanted to.

“You have! James’ one last month!”

“Cousins don’t count,” she snapped, suddenly irritated. “I want to go to Andy’s!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” her dad said firmly, but the tremor in his voice gave away that he was just as upset as she was. “There will be other parties.”

“Why is it an important date?” Molly demanded, but her father had stood up already and was heading to the doorway of hers and Lucy’s shared room. Lucy, who was already sound asleep, stirred as he said goodnight.

“Lots of love,” he said to them both. “Goodnight. Goodnight.”

As the years went on, Molly learnt a lot more about what had happened. She learnt that her Uncle Harry was a very important person because he saved a lot of people. She learnt that her mother’s sister was very ill in St Mungo’s. She learnt she was magic.

But she couldn’t understand the date of May the second. Her sister never questioned it; Lucy was far more interested in the outdoors or television than reading, but Molly scoured book after book in their house and at the library, desperate to find a reason for why her parents never left the house on the second of May. She used the internet at the library too and asked the librarian, but no results appeared from either of them.

She listened more closely as well, to what the adults said in conversations over the phone or in the dining room. Sometimes her Aunt Hermione would come over and stay with her father in the kitchen for hours, which annoyed Molly endlessly but Lucy never let her borrow her Extendable Ears so she never heard what they were saying.

Finally, as she had to decline another party invitation for May the second, Molly heard something.

“The War hurt a lot of people,” her mother was saying as she left the room. She’d snapped at her parents for not letting her go, since she was nine now and very much old enough to. “It needs to be remembered.”

“The War hurt us,” her dad said as Molly climbed the stairs. “We’re doing the right thing.”

There had never been any mention of a war before. Were her parents soldiers? Molly tried to imagine her dad, the great Percy Weasley, in camouflage, and almost wanted to laugh. Her mum would look okay in it, but she didn’t have the attitude to be a soldier. If there had been a war, though, then who was in it? How were her parents affected?

Her father came in that evening, to tuck her in, and she asked.

“What happened in the war?” she wondered, noticing when her dad stiffened as he neared her bed. His eyes seemed dazed, as if worried and confused.

“What war, sweetie? Where did you hear about a war?”

“You and Mum were talking earlier,” she replied. “How did the war hurt you?”

“I... Can we talk about this tomorrow, please?” her father asked, but Molly was firm.

“You never explain!” she exclaimed, throwing off her quilt and sitting on the side of the bed. “You never explain _why_ I can’t do anything on the second of May! _We_ never do anything anyway! You just make me and Lucy sit inside and listen to some names being read out on the radio by that friend of Uncle George’s!”

“Molly, please, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No!”

“Molly Weasley!” Her father’s tone was firm, promising that, if she pushed further, she would regret it. But Molly was on a roll.

“I want to know!”

“You are grounded! Goodnight!” her dad snapped, turning on his heel. “Goodnight!”

“Why do you say it twice? Is it because of the war?” Molly shrieked, as the door closed behind her. It was light outside, but the light in her bedroom was still on, casting dual shadows of everything. It would have been pretty if she wasn’t so angry.

She didn’t speak to her dad the next morning and avoided his kiss before he went to work. Lucy kicked her under the table, but she didn’t expect her kid sister to understand. Lucy didn’t care as much as she did, lost in her toys as the names rattled off every year. Molly couldn’t be bothered to listen to them and ended up reading instead. What was the list and why was it important?

“You’re being harsh on your father,” her mother chastised, sitting down next to her to eat her breakfast. “Your dad loves you very much.”

“Then why won’t he explain?” Molly demanded. “I want to know why I can’t have friends!”

“We aren’t stopping you!” her mother replied. “We just need you here, with us, on the second of May.”

“But _why_?”

Her mother didn’t respond, but her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. It had been a gift from their grandmother, Molly’s namesake, and it showed where each of them were at any given time. Her father’s hand was moving closer to the spot titled ‘work’ whereas Molly’s, Lucy’s and her mother’s read, ‘home’.

“Later,” her mother said quietly, and even Molly knew not to argue with her mother when she sounded like that.

Later meant two days, which left Molly restless and annoyed. She has stopped giving her father the silent treatment, only because her mother asked her to, but she was still curious.

It was a Saturday, her father’s day off, and she cornered him in the living room whilst her mother and sister were out, shopping for new shoes for Lucy, who had scuffed the others into oblivion. Her father was curled up on the sofa, reading some files from his work, and Molly was sat on the rocking chair, supposedly reading.

“Dad,” she said, signalling for her father’s attention. He hummed, indicating he was listening, and Molly repeated his name. He looked up. “You said you’d tell me later. What is the war and why won’t you talk about it?”

Her dad stiffened and paled, as if attempting to become a wall, and his eyes glazed over, not really seeing her. He began to stutter, but Molly was determined for answers.

“I…” her father tried. “Molly, I…”

“What is the war and why are you afraid to talk about it?”

“I’m not afraid!” her father said quickly. “I just…” He paused, running a hand through his normally tidy ginger hair. It looked like Lucy’s, like Molly’s own hair, but his was darker, with strands of grey in it despite his age. He was only in his thirties, though her teachers had said grey hairs meant he was old. Molly thought it was _distinguished_ , a word she’d learnt from her books. Lucy thought it was funny.

“Dad?” she asked when he didn’t respond. He was staring at his hands, and he stayed quiet for another moment before sighing.

“Come here,” he said, almost whispering it, and Molly followed his request. She set her book on the side and moved to curl up next to him on the sofa. “If you want me to stop at any point, you need to tell me.”

“I will,” Molly said quietly, keeping her eyes on him as he began.

“A very long time ago, longer than even I’ve been alive for, a small boy was born in an orphanage. He was a very rude boy, very mean to the other children, and he was a wizard. He was found by a very wise man named Albus Dumbledore…”

Molly saw the way her father’s jaw clenched as he explained the life of Tom Marvolo Riddle. The way his eyes shifted from the wall to her every so often when he spoke about his childhood. The way he smiled slightly when he mentioned Fred.

“Your Uncle George and Fred were inseparable,” he explained. “They were the pranksters of Gryffindor house, the best students in the school for getting you out of lessons, and they never ceased to make me laugh. And Fred, see, Fred was Uncle George’s twin. Now, when your Uncle Ron came to Hogwarts, I was a fifth-year Prefect. That was the same year your Uncle Harry and Aunt Hermione came…”

Molly listened to the way he spoke about Hogwarts, focusing mainly on himself and what he remembered. She heard how his voice quivered when he talked about her aunt’s incident with the Basilisk. How his eyes watered when he described the fights he had with her grandparents and her uncles and aunt.

“They were a lot surer than I was,” he said, pausing for a moment. “I followed the sheep and I was silly which is why, Molly, you must question _everything_.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, I stayed on at the Ministry and worked very hard alongside the Ministers, but I didn’t speak to your grandma or any other Weasleys. I refused to agree that Voldemort was back, that Uncle Harry was right, that we were in trouble…”

He was crying when he got to the Battle of Hogwarts, and Molly was holding his hand tightly. She didn’t know why but she wanted to cry too, even though she wasn’t there. He said how he went back, how he stayed with his family.

How Fred had laughed at his joke as he died.

“And that’s why I don’t like May the second,” he finished. “Because that day was when I lost my brother. And your mother has a whole other set of reasons for hating it, but you’ll have to ask her about them.”

He rubbed his eyes, and Molly’s, before smiling warmly at her.

“That list that’s read out by Lee Jordan every year is a list of names of everyone who died,” he said quietly, brushing her hair back from her face. “And your Uncle Fred is on there, every year, without fail. Your mum and I want you here with us because you remind us that we won. That it will never, ever happen again. That your uncle didn’t die for nothing. Because you, Molly Weasley, you and your sister are _everything_ to your mum and me. You are the best things that have ever happened to us.”

Molly sat on the table as he made dinner, listening to ridiculous stories about her Uncle Fred, and she finally felt as if she understood. What, she wasn't quite sure yet, but there was some sense of peace, some sort of notion in her that assured her that she did. She didn't think too hard about it.

She spoke to her mother, who explained how she was hurt by the War, and then asked her if she still wanted to go to the party. It took a while, but Molly realised she did, and after speaking to them both, she did. When she came home to her parents, she was smiling, and they smiled back, as if assuring her that yes, they were okay. Her mother and father made them dinner, asked about how the party was - “So fun, but I don’t think I want to go to another one for a while, if that’s okay.” - and in turn, Molly asked if her Uncle Fred’s name had been on the list. Lucy looked confused, but her dad had nodded, a small smile on his face, which made Molly smile too. She felt like she had done something good, as he tucked her in that night, and she kissed his cheek goodnight.

“Next year,” she said, “I want to listen to the names. Tell me about everyone you know about.”

“I will,” her father promised, after a brief pause. “I will. Goodnight. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, goodnight, Dad,” she replied, smiling as he turned off the light. She still didn’t know why he said it twice but really, she reasoned, it was a question for another time.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr!](https://the-grape-bowl.tumblr.com)


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